PodCastle 772: “Mama uat-ur”

* Author : Z. K. Abraham

* Narrator : C. L. Clark

* Host : Matt Dovey

* Audio Producer : Devin Martin

*

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PodCastle 772: “Mama uat-ur” is a PodCastle original.

Content warnings for references to torture and suicide

Rated PG-13

Mama uat-ur

By Z. K. Abraham

Pressing her forearms against the first-floor window’s metal frame, Temesghen watched aegean-blue waves splash against the concrete walls, searching for another flash of the being’s presence in the sea below. The stars were partially shrouded by the clouds; the sky was a milky greenish swirl like rotting leaves and tree sap, while the taste of sour algae and salt hung in the air. In the distance, several tall, concrete structures loomed: the Stacks, all that was left in a now-drowned world. Every Stack was the same inside as hers — at least, that’s what the overseers assured them. No way to tell for sure, since they weren’t allowed to sail or swim to the other buildings.

A flicker in the sea below: she perked up, but it was only a silverfish. The yellow beam of a flashlight danced over the waves. Temesghen dove to the ground, cursing herself for losing track of the time between patrols. The guards opened the windows above, searching for any illicit activity in the water, their torches passing over the windows of the lower level where she now hid, hoping she’d left no trace of her presence. A bloom of sweat drenched her chest under a loose tunic. Pushing down gurgling nausea, she leaned back against the gritty stone wall and crouched as still as possible. Wandering alone at night on the upper floors was considered trespassing, punishable by only a few months malnutrition and some light torture in the barracks, but those who went down to the forbidden lower floors were often never seen again. Her elderly parents were hard of hearing; she was able to sneak out without disturbing them. As long as she wasn’t caught by the patrols now, no one would ever find out about her desperate desires.

Before the world ended, Temesghen had travelled everywhere she could, visited the remaining green lands and diminished icebergs, taught herself to swim in the Red Sea. Freedom was a cacophonous sunrise, all bright oranges and flagrant pinks. No splintered guilt guiding her, no rumbling, bilious fear; none of the shades of trauma her parents carried everywhere, always. She’d once been a traveler, a nomadic researcher. No one to tell her “no”. As the water had further encroached on the land, she’d worried about the changing shape of the world, but had also been enthralled by the ever-present shimmer on the horizon, the tumult and texture of rising waves. Since being brought to the Stacks years ago, she took solace in watching those waves when she could. Weeks ago, she’d come to her familiar spot to observe the waters and seen a glimpse of pale eyes in the dark. Many people did not believe that ocean dwellers even existed; the overseers firmly denied the possibility that anyone could survive outside the Stacks. But she knew what she’d seen. The spotlight swept across the water, back and forth, then it was gone. She counted a full minute before she finally rose and continued her search.

There — a flash of copper in the waves. A flat sound, like a fin slapping against the surface. An arm. Something, someone, was breaking the surface.

Toes pressing into the rough concrete, Temesghen held her breath as the being emerged from the wa...